


Have Your Cake (And Eat It, Too)

by mikkimouse



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Regency, M/M, Minor Allison Argent/Scott McCall, Minor Lydia Martin/Erica Reyes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-23
Updated: 2015-02-23
Packaged: 2018-03-14 17:21:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,552
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3419132
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mikkimouse/pseuds/mikkimouse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"You've been in love with him since we were nine years old. That's ten years. You ought to let him know. At least see if he has a dance available." </p>
<p>"We're friends," Stiles finally said, because that was the important point. "He's my closest friend, after you. There's no sense in destroying that because of my ridiculous infatuation."</p>
<p>(Or, yet another historical romance AU.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Have Your Cake (And Eat It, Too)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [fauvistfly](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fauvistfly/gifts).



> This is a belated birthday present for the lovely [fauvistfly](http://fauvistfly.tumblr.com/), inspired by our shared love of historical romance novels. The backstory mentioned herein is inspired by _The Secret Diaries of Miss Miranda Cheever_ by Julia Quinn, which I am currently reading at fauvistfly's recommendation. :-) Happy birthday, dear.  <3
> 
> Thank you to [bleep0bleep](http://bleep0bleep.tumblr.com/) for the super-fast beta! You're amazing. *hugs* All remaining mistakes are my own.

"Vultures." Stiles seethed into his wine glass. "Every last one of them."

"What do you mean?" Scott asked.

Stiles flung an arm out, gesturing at the number of beautifully dressed men and women surrounding Lord Derek at the side of the ballroom floor. "His wife's been dead scarcely a year. He only just left mourning a week ago!" 

"But he hated Lady Katherine," Scott said. "She was an awful person and he was thrilled that their marriage ended. You know that. You hated her, too." 

"Yes, but _they_ don't." Stiles continued to glare at the multicolored crowd. "For all they know, he was crushed at her death. All they care is that the Earl of Beacon Hills is eligible once more." 

Scott frowned, and Stiles was pleased to see his words were finally sinking in. Scott was Derek's friend as well, and he ought to have some sympathy for this terrible situation. 

"We ought to go over there and rescue him," Stiles said.

"Yes," Scott agreed. "And then you can ask him to dance."

Stiles spluttered, nearly sending wine sloshing down the front of his waistcoat. "What?!"

"You love him," Scott said, in the same way one might state that two and two made four. "Why not make your intentions known and ask him to dance?" 

Heat raced up the back of Stiles's neck, and he held up his wine as if that could somehow hide the blush he knew had to be spreading across his cheeks. "You're—that's—"

"You've been in love with him since we were nine years old," Scott continued blithely. "That's ten years. You ought to let him know. At least see if he has a dance available." 

"We're friends," Stiles finally said, because that was the important point. "He's my closest friend, after you. There's no sense in destroying that because of my ridiculous infatuation."

"Are you so sure it would be destroyed?" 

"My affections are not returned, Scott," Stiles admitted, the words like ashes in his mouth. "I have long come to accept that Lord Derek's preferences do not tend toward men." 

Scott's earlier frown increased again. " _Have_ you spoken with him about it?" 

"Scott," Stiles pleaded. He wanted nothing more than to be done with this idiotic, pointless conversation. "He's made it perfectly clear more than once. Just...please stop talking about it."

The frown faded, and Scott clapped a hand on Stiles's shoulder, squeezing it reassuringly. "Well then, he's an utter fool. Anyone should be happy to have your affections, man or woman."

Stiles somehow managed a smile. "And this is why _you_ are my dearest friend." 

Scott smiled crookedly, and then his gaze trailed over Stiles's shoulder and lit up in a way that could only mean one thing. 

Stiles waved his hand magnanimously. "Go, go, ask Lady Allison for as many dances as you can. The music will start any moment and you know Lord Christopher will try to foist her off on Whittemore again, if he can." 

Scott was already moving across the ballroom, but he looked a little pained. "Will you be all right?" 

"Yes, now _go_ ," Stiles repeated, and that was apparently all the encouragement Scott required. 

Of course, that left Stiles alone with his drink at the edge of the ballroom. Normally he might have found Lady Lydia and either gossiped quietly with her or danced with her for a few songs, but Lydia was sadly ill this week. Stiles had been to visit her earlier that day and had been treated to a detailed recounting of how "bloody bored" she was. She'd practically _begged_ him to return the next day with all the news he'd gathered from the ball. 

He _did_ wish Lydia were here now, though. 

The violins started to play, and couples took to the floor. Stiles let his gaze drift back to Derek, idly wondering if he'd managed to push off his horde of amorous suitors, or if he needed rescuing. To his shock, Derek was striding onto the ballroom floor, escorting a gorgeous blonde woman in an almost violently blue dress. He looked neither irritated nor resigned about his partner, but rather...satisfied. 

Stiles felt as though his stomach dropped through the floor, his heart right behind it. 

It was a silly reaction, foolish. Derek was no longer in mourning, and if he wished to dance with someone, he was certainly allowed to do so. He deserved happiness, and Stiles would be an utterly terrible friend if he thought otherwise. 

But apparently he did not possess the ability to watch said happiness as it happened. 

Stiles set down his wine glass and left the ballroom as quickly as his feet would take him.

***

He ended up in the gardens of the estate. Truly, Stiles supposed he shouldn't have been surprised; during the balls, the gardens were typically sparsely visited, especially when it was not quite spring and the night air still held a firm chill. It was a good place to be alone.

Stiles stopped near a bench and tipped his head back, looking up at the star-speckled sky, so impossibly big and brilliant it took his breath away. It briefly soothed the ache in his chest, but as soon as he closed his eyes, he saw Derek with the blonde woman, and his heart hurt all over again.

He knew, he _knew_ Derek did not share his affections, which had begun some ten years previous, on the first day they'd met. Whittemore, the ass, had said more than a few unkind things about Stiles's mother (who was gravely ill, and had passed not two months later), his father (who was far too concerned about his wife to pay much attention to an overly active son), and his gangly limbs. 

Fortunately for Stiles, Whittemore had made the mistake of uttering that steaming load of horseshit in the drawing room of the Triskelion estate, where they had all gathered for Lady Cora Hale's birthday party. Lady Cora had immediately kicked him in the shin, whereupon Whittemore howled like a babe and Derek had come running into the room to see what in blazes was going on. 

Eleven nine- and ten-year-olds had attempted to explain all at once. It was a wonder Derek had even been able to deduce half of it. The end result was that Whittemore had been sequestered until his parents could come to collect him, Stiles had run off, and Derek was the one who found him curled up under a bench in the gardens. 

Derek crouched on the path and peered at him. "Mr. Stilinski, what _are_ you doing hiding under there?" 

Stiles tried to make himself smaller, though of course it wasn't any use. "Nothing, my lord." 

"Well, can you come do nothing out here? I've brought two pieces of cake and I'd hate for them to go to waste. And please, call me Derek." 

Derek's smile had been like the sunrise, and Stiles had crawled out to oblige him. They sat together on the bench, eating cake in companionable silence, as though Derek recognized Stiles didn't much want to talk (which was, then and now, a rarity). 

"Whittemore has no idea what he's talking about," Derek had said, as soon they'd finished the cake. "You're going to grow into yourself, and you're going to surprise everybody. Mark my words." 

It shouldn't have meant as much as it did, but coming from someone so much older (six whole years!) and as beautiful as Derek, it had felt like a cool drink of water after hours in the summer sun. Stiles had fallen in love with him at that very moment, and his affections had not wavered in the least in the intervening decade. In fact, they'd only grown stronger as he and Derek built an actual friendship. 

Stiles took a deep breath, sat down, and looked back up at the sky. He'd survived watching the man he loved pledge his life to another once before. He could do it again. Besides, he'd meant what he'd said to Scott. He'd rather have Derek in his life as a friend than not at all, and confessing his feelings would only end in grief all around. 

But oh, it would hurt in the meantime. 

"Bit chilly for a nighttime stroll, isn't it?" 

Stiles jumped off the bench and spun to see Derek ambling down the path, hands tucked in his pockets. He fumbled his way into a bow. "Bit hypocritical of you, isn't it, my lord?" 

Derek chuckled, and God, it _did_ things to Stiles, spreading through his chest like warm honey. "Touché. However, I have been suffocating in a crowd of people all evening in addition to all the dancing, so this air is," Derek took a deep inhale, "bracing."

Stiles couldn't help the smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Indeed. I did have the thought to come rescue you, perhaps claim some sort of horrific ailment that would have made them all scatter, but you seem to have handled yourself well enough."

Derek snorted. "Next time, just proceed with the rescue. I wasn't joking about the suffocation; I've never smelled so much perfume in one place in my life."

"Even on your lovely dance partner?" Why did those words come out of his mouth? Why did Stiles have to bring that up?

"One of Lady Erica's most commendable qualities is that she possesses a very delicate nose, and thus uses only the lightest of fragrances." Derek sighed. "It was, quite frankly, a relief. For three dances, anyway."

"No more?" Stiles fought to keep his tone light. "But I thought everyone here was trying to dance with the earl. Become your new count or countess." 

"Oh, she may have convinced herself of that, but believe me, she was no more interested in me than I her," Derek said. "Or at least, that's what I gathered based on three dances of her growing irritation regarding the lack of attendance of a certain Lady Lydia."

Stiles's jaw dropped, and then he threw back his head and laughed. "Oh, that's wonderful. No wonder Lydia was so cross about being unable to attend the ball; I knew it wasn't just because she was bored."

Derek frowned. "Where is she?"

"Ill, unfortunately. Has been all week."

"Hm." Derek tapped a finger against his stubbled cheek, as though he was thinking. "Perhaps I ought to let that bit of information slip to Lady Erica if we dance again."

"Perhaps you should," Stiles said. "It will get me out of having to give a detailed account of all the dresses and waistcoats in attendance."

"I couldn't help but notice you didn't dance."

Stiles shrugged, hoped it looked natural. "Felt like taking a stroll in the gardens. You know, stomping around dark corners and clearing my throat loudly to scare off any couples hiding in the bushes." 

Derek laughed. "Really? Find anyone?" 

"Sadly, no. Cold must be keeping everyone inside." 

As if on cue, Stiles shivered hard. Damn, the cold was finally getting to him. 

Derek's dark brows drew together, and he stepped forward, shrugging out his fine coat. "Cold's not doing a good job of keeping you inside." He held out his coat to Stiles. "Here, before you catch your death."

Stiles rolled his eyes. "You sound like my grandmother. I'll be fine." 

Derek huffed, and then he took another step closer and draped his coat over Stiles's shoulders, pulling at the lapels to make sure it sat properly. It was still warm from his body, like Stiles was being wrapped in a hug. He bit his lip to keep from whimpering out loud. 

Rather than stepping back to a respectable distance, though, Derek stayed there, standing just inches from Stiles, hands still clasping the lapels of his coat. His knuckles rested lightly against Stiles's chest, rising and falling with each breath, but Stiles felt each one clearly even through all the layers of clothing. 

He needed to back away, because he was half a breath from confessing his feelings and just throwing himself at Derek. But Derek wasn't moving, wasn't letting go, and his green-grey-yellow eyes were boring into Stiles's, and Stiles couldn't bring himself to look away. 

"We should return to the ball," Derek murmured, but he made no move to do so. 

Stiles nodded and swallowed, trying to wet his throat enough to speak. "Yes, we should, my lord." 

Derek's mouth—God, it was _right there_ —tipped up a little at the side. "I thought I told you to call me Derek." 

"Derek," Stiles whispered, because it was the only word he could think of right then. His whole body buzzed with the proximity; it was close enough that he could just lean forward and—

Suddenly Derek took a step back, breaking his gaze away from Stiles and dropping his hands in fists to his side. "I—my apologies, Stiles."

Without Derek standing in front of him, it was suddenly too cold again. "Apologies?" Stiles repeatedly dumbly. 

Derek nodded stiffly, but he didn't look back up. "I shouldn't have—You have been a dear friend to me throughout everything, and I know friendship is all you wish—"

Stiles choked at the words. "What? All _I_ wish?" 

Derek cursed and rubbed his hands over his face. "Please, forgive me. Truly, your friendship is valuable to me, and I don't wish to ruin it with my feelings." 

Stiles couldn't believe his ears. Derek was...Derek had...

Derek was _turning away_. 

Before he could think about it, Stiles darted forward and grabbed Derek's gloved hand, threading their fingers together and forcing Derek to turn and face him. "I treasure our friendship," he said quickly. "I do, and I would wish for it to last the end of our days. But...if there could be more...I would not be opposed," Stiles finished quietly, his courage starting to desert him. "In fact, I would like that very m—"

Derek surged forward and kissed him, muffling the last bit of the word. For a moment, Stiles was frozen in surprise, but then he let himself sink into the kiss, the warmth of Derek's lips and how soft they were against the prickliness of his stubble. His heart might have pounded out of his chest, whether in happiness or excitement he couldn't say. 

"I thought you didn't—" Stiles started when Derek pulled back. "You told me you had no preference for men." 

Derek ducked his head, a shy smile at his lips. "I've learned much about myself this past year. Without Kate around, it was easier to think, and I...I might have realized that my feelings for you were far more than friendly." 

"I've been in love with you since you brought me cake in your family's garden," Stiles blurted out.

God, was there a _worse_ way to admit that? Stiles cringed, certain that Derek would laugh. 

Instead, Derek took both of his hands in his and squeezed them. "Well then, should we return to the ball? Or," he leaned in closer and dropped his voice, "should we make good use of this poor, lonely garden?" 

Stiles grinned, an uncharacteristic giddiness bubbling in his chest. "I happen to know of a _very_ secluded bench." 

Derek matched his grin with a suggestive one of his own. "That sounds perfect."

**Author's Note:**

> Come pester me about Sterek on [Tumblr](http://mad-madam-m.tumblr.com/).
> 
> As always, if I miss any tags, let me know so I can add them. Thanks!


End file.
